Converting Carbohydrates
by scheese.and.quokkas
Summary: Jane and her fifteen year old daughter do a little bonding over some midnight cereal. Short, cute, and a little bit fluffy. This oneshot is the first companion piece I've written to one of my earlier fics 'The Years That Answer'. It can stand alone just fine, though you might want to read TYTA first.


Isla rolled over onto her stomach, the sudden glare from her phone's bright display in the dark causing her to squint as she checked the time. Sleep was still evading her at one am, and she let her face fall into her pillow in frustration. She'd been lying here awake for over two hours, trying without success to switch her brain off as a thousand questions swam steadily through her mind.

Usually, she kept a very healthy sleep routine. Her mother had impressed upon her the importance of a good night's sleep from a very young age, and she found herself keeping school hours even during the holidays. Her brother Archer was the polar opposite when it came to sleep. Her Ma had to do nothing short of drag him out of bed most school mornings, and he managed to revert to an almost nocturnal existence within three days of lacking routine. It was a Friday night, or technically a Saturday morning, so Archer was probably still wide awake, lost in some kind of science fiction novel, not having even attempted to sleep yet.

What she really wanted to do was go for a run to burn off all the energy she was using for thinking, and force her body to sleep out of exhaustion. But if she got caught leaving the house to go running through the streets of Boston alone in the dark, her life wouldn't be worth living. When your Ma caught serial killers for a living, and your Mom examined their victims, potentially life-threatening behaviour like midnight jogs tended to attract unfairly harsh punishments.

Her Plan B was to go and eat some cereal, a secret traditional childhood remedy for sleeplessness she and her Ma used to practice a lot when she was still in grade school. Maura had chastised Jane for it, claiming their daughter was staying up late solely for the purposes of extra cereal, that eating carbohydrates in the middle of the night meant they just got converted to sugar and immediately stored as fat, and that she was encouraging unhealthy eating patterns. Jane had written it off as bonding time, and evidently done something charming to assuage her wife's disregard for the practice, because Maura never stayed mad for long. At worst, they usually just received a disapproving gaze in the morning when her Mom happened across their two bowls sitting in the sink, messed with cereal residue.

Isla threw off her duvet and slid out of bed, dreading the prospect of being so sleep deprived in the morning. Padding downstairs in a pair of sleeping shorts and an old t-shirt, she was surprised to find that the kitchen light was already on. She made her way down the hall and turned into the kitchen to find her Ma sitting cross-legged atop the kitchen island, munching on a bowl of Froot Loops in her pyjama pants and spaghetti strap singlet.

Hearing footsteps, Jane turned to the doorway with a mixed look of panic and guilt written all over her face, but relaxed with a chuckle when she saw she wouldn't be reprimanded. 'Hey Iz,' she greeted, taking a mouthful of cereal. 'Can't sleep?'

Isla shook her head, moving to fill a bowl herself, and taking the spot on the island her Ma patted next to her.

'You know,' Jane started speaking before she'd finished swallowing, indicating the cereal. 'This stuff was around when I was a kid. I can't believe they're still making it.'

'Americans love a sugary start to the day,' Isla joked weakly, pushing her cereal around in the milk.

'Unless your name is Maura Isles,' Jane agreed thoughtfully. 'Though, I don't think your Mom's actually American. I think she's a robot.'

'You think you're married to a robot?'

'Hmm. Yeah, maybe. I mean, she's a damn fine robot, but it's not natural to prefer oatmeal over Froot Loops, you know?'

'You know what she'd say to that.'

'What?'

'That your hypothesis is based on the assumption that American culture prizes the short term satisfaction of refined sugar over the long term health benefits of a well-balanced diet.'

'You channel her well,' Jane said approvingly. 'Is my assumption wrong?'

'Mom would never say that without conclusive evidence,' Isla grinned and took a mouthful of cereal.

Jane gave a snort, now spooning up dregs of milk strewn with soggy Froot Loop remnants. 'It's not like you to be awake this late,' she commented, looking at her daughter. 'What's up?'

Isla avoided her eye contact, all of a sudden chewing much more slowly. She gave a non-committal shrug as she swallowed. 'Nothing.'

Jane gave a single chuckle as she put her empty bowl to the side, and put one arm around her daughter's shoulders. 'You forget it's part of my job to know when somebody's lying,' she said. 'It's a good thing you don't have aspirations for a life of crime, because you suck at it.'

Isla gave a quiet laugh, which was more of a forced exhale. She knew she was a terrible liar. Having been told what happened to her Mom when she lied, she'd been terrified the same thing would happen to her as well, and she'd had almost no practice telling fibs as a youngster.

'You want to talk about it?' Jane prompted, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

'I guess,' Isla put her barely-touched bowl of cereal to the side and relaxed with a sigh into her Ma's one-armed embrace. 'You know I told you Chris and I broke up a few weeks ago?'

'Yeah,' Jane replied. 'Is he dating somebody new already? Is it that slutty cheerleader? Do you want me to go and make him think he's been implicated in a murder?'

'No! Ma!' Isla groaned good-naturedly. 'He's not dating anyone else. I thought you liked him?'

'I did. Do. No, did. I like you more. You're not pregnant are you? Because you're fifteen years and three hundred and fifty two days old, so I _can_ haul him off to the cop shop for that.'

'Ma! No! I'm not pregnant!'

'Okay, okay,' Jane breathed an internal sigh of relief. One less terrifying conversation she'd have to have. 'I'll shut up. What about you and Chris?'

Isla took a big breath, and gave a little shiver. 'I told you we broke up because we felt more like friends than boyfriend and girlfriend, but… that's not really why. I just… I promised him I wouldn't tell anybody, but now I have all these questions and my brain won't shut up.'

'Tell anybody what, Iz?'

'Chris thinks maybe he's gay,' Isla answered a little dejectedly. 'And that's why he wanted to break up. But he seemed really into me when we started dating, and I know it's probably a stupid question, but did _I_ do this to him? What if he just thinks he's gay because he stopped liking me? And how do you even know? I feel like such an idiot because my _parents_ are gay, but I don't know how it happens. How do you figure it out? Did you always know you wanted to marry a woman? Did you ever date men while you were figuring it out? Has Chris been wondering this all along? Was I his experiment?'

'Well,' Jane said after she was sure her daughter had finished. 'I can see why you're having trouble sleeping.'

'I told you,' Isla said, a little impatiently. 'I can't switch my brain off.'

'Okay, baby, first of all, you haven't "turned" him gay,' Jane cupped Isla's cheek and gently forced her daughter to look her in the eye. 'You can't turn anyone gay, or straight, or anywhere in between. Sometimes certain people help you realise that there were pieces of yourself you didn't know about, even if they've been there all along.'

'But-'

'And I know it sucks to be in your position right now, but maybe you were one of those people for Chris. You didn't turn him gay, or bicurious, or whatever, Iz. You've probably just helped him realise something.'

'But how do you _know_?'

'You just do!'

This response was met with a very dissatisfied look.

'Alright, we're venturing into metaphor territory,' Jane paused to ponder a moment. 'Let's pretend sexuality is cake. And instead of women and men you have Christmas cake and carrot cake.'

'Oh my God, I hate Christmas cake,' Isla almost shuddered.

'But you love carrot cake,' Jane reminded her.

'It's definitely in the top three,' her daughter nodded.

'Right. So do you only like carrot cake because you hate Christmas cake?'

'What? No. Carrot cake just has _such_ good frosting. And when Grandma R puts walnuts in it…' she made a drooling noise.

'Great, and do you only hate Christmas cake because you've already found a cake you like?'

'No, that's stupid. It's like saying once you have a favourite, you can't like any other flavour. But I'd still hate Christmas cake if it was the last type of cake on earth.'

'I should have used cake metaphors when I was trying to teach you math,' Jane mused. 'Do you get it? If Chris does turn out to be gay, it isn't because it's a backup option for when Plan A doesn't work out. He just likes carrot cake.'

'Because of the frosting.'

'Right. Not because it's the only option left after Christmas cake didn't work out.'

'I think I was his taste test of Christmas cake,' Isla said thoughtfully. 'I'm not surprised he didn't want his mouth anywhere near me.'

Jane cracked up laughing then, and pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. 'Are you and Chris still friends? It sounds like he could use one right now.'

'Yeah, we're cool. You won't let on that you know, will you? If he comes round?'

'Cross my heart,' Jane promised. 'Are you gonna eat those?' she indicated Isla's bowl of cereal.

'Nah, here,' she passed the bowl over. 'Ma, did you date a lot of boys? Before you figured it out, I mean?'

'Aw, Iz, I dated boys right up until I got with your mother.'

'What?!' she turned, quite taken aback. 'Mom's the only woman you've ever been with?'

'Mhmm,' Jane nodded as she chewed. 'Why'd you let these get soggy? The crunch is the best part.'

'Did you even _kiss_ a girl before Mom?'

'Uhm, no. Though, a gay bartender kissed my neck once.'

Isla was mind-boggled. 'So are you gay, or bi, or pan, or… what?'

'I thought they'd have done away with labels by 2032,' Jane thought aloud. 'Iz, I didn't even consider that I might like women until I met your Mom. I came really close to being engaged to a man, which actually ended up kick starting the romance between us.'

'Use a cake metaphor.'

'So… I tried some carrot cake and I liked it, and it was good. Almost everybody else liked carrot cake too, so there wasn't an issue there. I didn't bother sampling any other flavours, because I mean, why fix what ain't broke, right? But then your Mom came along, and she was all, "Here, try this slice of red velvet". So I did, and it was the single best motherfucking piece of cake I've ever eaten. Nobody else made me want to try red velvet before, and maybe they never will again, but it doesn't matter, because I love your mother ten times more than the best piece of carrot cake ever made.'

'I still don't know if that makes you gay or bisexual.'

'I don't know myself,' Jane shrugged. 'And that ate at me for a while. But then I realised I was waking up with a grin virtually every morning. Aspire to happiness, Iz, not labels.'

'And what about Mom?'

'Eh, pretty much the same story. Though she dated a billionaire, who turned out to be a murderer. And a serial killer.'

'What?' Isla was almost speechless. Her parents had had lives! Interesting lives!

Jane winked. 'I saved her. And actually, I think she had a bit of a fling with a chick at BCU, on the equestrian team. But she doesn't talk about that very often.'

'Damn,' Isla breathed. 'I feel like there's a hundred things you aren't telling me.'

'I'll take you through some of our old photo albums tomorrow if you want,' Jane promised, yawning. 'You still want to go do some target shooting practice after lunch?'

'I _always_ want to do target shooting practice,' Isla grinned. 'What are you doing awake, anyway?'

'Things have been a bit slow at work for once, so we're just going over a few cold cases,' Jane hopped down from the kitchen island, and went to place their bowls in the sink. 'I think I might be onto something, so I thought I'd come down here and mull it over. You know how cereal helps me mull.'

'You'll crack it,' Isla said confidently. 'Mom always says you're the best in the unit. Which means you're better than Uncle Frankie.'

Jane scoffed. 'Of course I'm better than Uncle Frankie. I taught him everything he knows. You ready to try and get some shut eye?'

'Mmm, yeah,' Isla nodded, shuffling forward off the island.

'You want to come jump in with us? For old times' sake?'

Isla broke into a wide grin. She hadn't shared a bed with her parents in years. 'Yeah, okay,' she laughed.

'Go grab a pillow and I'll meet you in there,' Jane promised as they reached the top of the stairs.

Jane slid into her side of their California King and kissed Maura's cheeks and nose until her wife was semi-conscious. 'Isla's climbing in with us tonight,' she whispered, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

'Mmm, what?' Maura gave a stretch and rolled into Jane, hugging her like a body pillow. 'You smell like Froot Loops. Sgood.'

'I said Isla's coming for a sleepover tonight,' Jane smiled, brushing Maura's sleep-mussed hair from her face, and giving an enormous yawn.

'Why?' Maura tried to crack an eye open. 'Is she okay?'

'She's fine,' Jane assured her. 'Go back to sleep, I'll tell you about it in the morning.'

Several seconds later, Jane heard the muted tread of feet on carpet, and then something heavy scrambled up the middle of the bed. A pillow was hurled through the darkness, hitting Jane in the face. Maura detached herself from her wife in response, and Isla climbed under the sheets between them.

'Hey, sweetie,' Maura mumbled, nearly lost to sleep once more, automatically wrapping a protective arm around her daughter.

'Hi, Mom,' Isla whispered, wriggling around for a few seconds to get comfy.

Jane paused to remember the days when a miniature Isla and Archer would be in here, splayed out like starfishes while she and Maura acted as bookends, trying not to fall out of bed themselves. She couldn't believe how fast they'd grown.

'G'night, Maur,' she whispered, shuffling beneath the sheets.

No reply. Evidently, her wife had found the sandman.

'Night, Iz,' she angled her pillow down and found her usual stomach-sleeping position.

'Night, Ma,' came Isla's voice, comparatively alert.

'Count sheep, baby,' Jane's eyes were already closed. 'Or see if you can remember all the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody.'

'I'm on it.'

Jane could hear the smile in her voice, and, satisfied, she let her mind wander freely. Warm and content, she fell asleep next to her two favourite girls, knowing the new day would bring memories and target shooting. She had definitely woken up to worse.


End file.
